"There are always choices, Emily. My father chose to pretend he was not the duke, while still reaping its benefits. I choose to be useful, when I can." He grinned at her. "But that doesn't mean a duke can't have any fun."

He quickly kissed her cheek and dashed over to that bent, ancient-looking tree. As Emily watched, he grabbed on to one of the low-lying branches and pulled himself up. He climbed higher through the leaves until he came to a thick branch that twisted out over the water.

"What are you doing?" Emily cried. "You'll fall!"

"Oh, ye of little faith. I used to do this all the time."

"Used to?"

"I'm only a little out of practice." He stripped off his shirt and boots and tossed it to her. He looked like a primitive woodland G.o.d himself as he balanced there on the branch, bare-chested, tousle-haired. A mischievous, sensual spirit of the trees.

He reached up and unlooped a long, knotted rope from the branch above his head. A small wooden seat was attached to its end as a swing.

To Emily's wary eyes it looked rather old and precarious. Surely it had been there since his childhood days! But Nicholas stepped fearlessly on to the wooden seat, wrapped his fists around the rope, and launched himself into s.p.a.ce.

"No!" Emily screamed.

"Watch me, Em!" he called back. As he swung past her head and back over the water again, his expression was one of such immense exhilaration and joy she couldn't scold, despite her terror. "It's easy, see?"

He swung past a couple more times, higher each time, before he dived into the pool. A great splash marked where he went in, but for a long moment he did not come out again.

Emily stood up as she pressed her hand to her mouth, waiting breathlessly. She remembered when he fell into the Serpentine with that poor child in his arms. This was much deeper than that river.

Then he plunged upwards with an echoing shout, his arms pounding at the water. "It's wonderful! So warm."

She laughed, her arms clutching at his shirt. "I will just take your word for it."

"No, you must try it yourself," he insisted. He swam towards sh.o.r.e, long, smooth strokes that cut through the water with barely a ripple. As he stepped on to the pebbled bank he shook himself, sending crystalline drops flying. He looked at her intently.

Emily's laughter faded as she took a step back. "I don't know how to swim."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all. My mother considered it an unladylike pastime."

"Well, my family does not think so. All my sisters can swim. Come, I'll teach you."

Emily remembered her un-coordinated dancing skills. Surely swimming was even harder. "What if I fall?"

"I wouldn't let you. I promise." He took his shirt from her tightly clenched hands and tossed it away, holding on to her as he looked steadily into her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Did she? Could she? Feeling as if she was stepping off a great, steep precipice, she slowly nodded. "You did not let me shoot myself at archery, I suppose."

Nicholas laughed. "And you were very adept with the bow, just as you will be at swimming."

Before she could change her mind, Emily took off her shoes and stockings and gown, and waded into the water in her chemise.

"It is warm," she said in surprise. And soft, lapping around her legs and hips in gentle ripples.

Nicholas held her hands as they moved ever deeper. Before her feet dropped away beneath her, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her high. He twirled her around, the sun dappling their wet skin and turning the water to shimmering diamonds around them. She laughed and laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders as the whole world went mad and she did not care at all.

She stared down at him, at his elegant, chiselled face revealed by his slicked-back hair. He was laughing with her, his eyes alight with delight, as if her moment of sheer pleasure was his as well.

And in that one moment she knew, as a lightning bolt out of that blue sky. Being with him was no longer a duty, a compromise and escape from scandal. In only a few days with him, getting to know him, getting to know herself, it had become so much more.

She was in love with him. In love with her own husband.

That jolt of knowledge was so wonderful and so terrible at the same time. He did not love her.

Please, please, do not let me end up like his poor mother, she thought desperately. Don't let him know how I really feel.

Before she could scream those fateful words aloud- I love you-she ducked her head and kissed him. Into that kiss, she put everything she could not say, all that had to stay hidden. Maybe for ever.

His arms tightened around her waist, and she wrapped her legs about his hips. Their kiss deepened, desperately seeking something that seemed to hover just out of reach, shining and elusive. Some connection that she craved so very much.

Emily felt suddenly bold. She wasn't herself; desire, and that newfound force of love, made her into someone else, someone whose pa.s.sionate longing could burst forth. She buried her fingers in his hair and opened her mouth under his, daring to touch her tongue to his, to taste him deeply. How delicious he was, like sunshine and clean water, and something dark and sweet that was only him. It made her head spin, as tipsy as if she had drunk too much frothy champagne.

She wanted more of him, more of this feeling, this wild sense of life and longing. She wanted more of everything.

"Emily, Emily," he gasped. His open mouth traced her cheek, her jaw, the taut line of her throat as she arched her head back. He bit at the soft curve of her shoulder, making her cry out at the rush of hot l.u.s.t that shot through her. "You are making me insane."

"I don't even feel like myself any more," she whispered. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he kissed her shoulder, the swell of her breast above her wet chemise. "You make me feel like-like..."

"Like what?"

"I don't even know! So wild, so-free."

"I want you to be free, Em," he muttered. "I want to give you everything you want."

Emily very much feared that what she wanted more than anything, ever, was him. Their lips met again, in a wild kiss that held no thought or careful art, just a raw need that wouldn't be denied.

She felt the shift and movement of his body against hers, his mouth never leaving hers even as he carried them to the banks of the pool. He lowered her to the soft earth, on his discarded shirt, his body coming down atop hers. Emily slid her legs higher around him, pulling him even closer. She wanted nothing at all to come between them.

"Emily," he moaned. He kissed the curve of her ear, nipping gently at the soft lobe, his breath warm on her skin. It made her tremble, and she caressed the hard, damp muscles of his shoulders, the hollow of his spine. Her fingertips skimmed the edge of his breeches, unaccountably angry that the fabric kept her from what she wanted-to touch him, to touch his bare skin.

She threw her head back, opening her eyes to look up at him. He was outlined in the sunlight, which turned him all to gold. How handsome he was, her husband. She wanted to weep with it, with the overwhelming force of her desire for him. How had this ever happened to her?

He slid down her body to grasp the hem of her chemise, slowly drawing it up along her body. As he went, he kissed every inch of her newly bared skin, from the arch of her foot, the curve of her leg, that sensitive little spot just behind her knee, the soft flare of her hip. Soon he tossed the fabric away and she lay there naked before him.

Unlike in their candlelit ballroom, here there were no shadows to hide in. She couldn't escape from the light, and suddenly she felt shy. She tried to cover her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but Nicholas wouldn't let her. He twined his fingers with hers, holding her hands to her sides as he kissed a heated ribbon along her throat, her shoulder.

"Nicholas," she whispered tightly, gasping as his open mouth slid over her left breast, wet, hot, teasing. "Please!"

"What is it you want, Emily?" he said teasingly, licking at the delicate hollow between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "This? Or-this?"

He nipped at the soft curve just underneath her breast, and soothed it with the tip of his tongue.

She arched up, pressing her body to his in silent longing, and at last he took her aching nipple deep into his mouth. He caressed her other breast gently on his palm until she moaned again. Through that hot cloud of desire, she felt him ease her legs even further apart. He knelt between them, his kiss trailing away from her body, leaving her feeling bereft.

Her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him. His eyes were narrowed, darkened with desire as he looked down at her bare body. She felt so heavy and damp, aching with a pa.s.sion she was only beginning to understand.

He touched her there, one finger sliding inside her, rough and hot. He caressed that one tiny, sensitive spot, making her cry out.

"I'm sorry, Em," he groaned. "I can't wait any longer."

"I don't want you to," she whispered. And she didn't-she wanted him right that instant. Her whole body cried out for him.

How could everyone have been so very wrong about the marriage act? It was surely the most splendid thing ever!

"Hold on to me," he said, and as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders he slid carefully into her, inch by slow inch. She sighed at the delicious, hot feelings of fullness, of being joined with him in all ways.

He drew back and thrust forwards again, and then again, faster. She knew his body now, knew how to move with him, to find their own rhythm. Their cries, the warm rush of their breath, blended with the sun and the wind around them, and she felt like she was soaring up into the sky. They were part of the whole world even as they became part of each other.

The bubble of light and sensation built deep down inside, expanding, growing, until it suffused her whole body. She couldn't see or think-she could only feel. And that bubble burst in a brilliant shower of sparks.

"Emily!" he shouted, his head thrown back, his neck taut. He thrust one last time, one long moment that seemed wondrously suspended for ever before he drew out of her. "Emily."

Then he collapsed to the ground beside her and Emily slowly, slowly, floated back to earth.

Her eyes closed and she caressed his shoulder, his damp hair, resting her head on his chest as a weakness closed over her. She felt the breeze over her skin, the heat of the sun on her closed eyelids and his kiss on her brow.

"I doubt anyone else has ever had quite such a honeymoon as this," she whispered, wishing they never had to leave Welbourne at all, just before the warm lure of sleep claimed her.

Nicholas watched Emily as she knelt by the pathway to examine some wildflowers. The dappled sunlight trickled over the loose fall of her hair, turning it into molten gold and gilding her fair, soft skin. She smiled as she touched the petals, suddenly looking so very young and free. The shy, slightly worried London lady was gone.

And he could feel his old, grief-saddened self melting away, too. Ever since he came home after losing Valentina, he had felt so solitary, distant from his family, bound only to his duty. The old Manning joy in life, the abandon, was gone from his heart and there was only that terrible numbness.

Until now. At first this marriage with Emily seemed yet another duty, but in spending this time with her it had sneaked up on him-this was becoming so much more than duty.

He enjoyed waking up each day, full of antic.i.p.ation about what could happen in those hours he spent with her. He wanted to find ways to make her smile. He wanted-well, he just wanted to be with her. To learn more about her. He was finding his wife to be ever-surprising, so much more than she appeared. And he wasn't lonely any longer.

How had that happened? How was it he felt the warm touch of life on his heart again?

Nicholas shook his head hard, trying to clear it. He should be on guard against such feelings, they were dangerous. He had to remember Valentina, and what happened when he let the wild Manning emotions get the better of him. He had to be careful.

But that was almost impossible to do when Emily looked up at him and smiled.

"I've never seen a flower like this before," she said. "What is it called?"

Nicholas knelt beside her and pretended to examine the pink blossoms. All he could see was her, the light on her hair, the warm scent of her skin, roses and clean water.

"I'm not much of a botanist," he said.

Emily laughed. "I thought you knew about everything. Horses, stars, archery..."

"Not flowers, though." He plucked one of the delicate blossoms and tucked it into her hair.

"I love it here at Welbourne," she whispered. "I would never have thought it could be, but it has woven its spell on me. I wish we never had to leave."

It had woven its spell on him, too. He had to fight to break free of it.

"We should get back to the house," he said abruptly. "It grows late."

Her smile faded, and she nodded as he took her hand and helped her to her feet. They made their way back to the house in silence, the enchanted pool growing further and further behind them.

A man waited for them on the drive at the front of the house, pacing back and forth.

"Who is that?" Emily asked. "Are you expecting a caller?"

"It's my secretary from London," Nicholas said. "And, no, I wasn't expecting him. There must be some unexpected business that's come up."

"Business on your honeymoon?"

Nicholas laughed wryly. The reminder of the real world seemed to be a timely one. "The work of a duke never ends. Go on inside, Em. I won't be long."

"Yes, I'll just go write those letters I've been neglecting."

Emily started towards the house, her hand trailing out of Nicholas's clasp. Before she could leave him entirely, he pulled her towards him and kissed her one more time. She tasted of sunlight and faded laughter.

"I enjoyed our day," he said.

"So did I. Very much," she answered with a wary smile. "Now, your Grace, go and do your duty. I will see you at dinner."

His duty. Yes, he could never forget that. He watched Emily disappear into the house, and then turned towards the waiting secretary.

Chapter Eighteen.

Emily drifted around the library aimlessly, humming a little tune as she picked up various little boxes and figurines from the tables and put them down again. She couldn't seem to settle to anything, despite the wealth of tempting novels and volumes of poetry on the shelves, all the letters that waited for her. Ever since she and Nicholas had finally roused themselves to dress and return to the house, she hadn't felt like herself at all.

She had never felt so restless before, as if she simply could not sit still. But it was a good kind of restless, a happy kind. She wanted to twirl around, to laugh aloud, to run and skip!

She did neither, of course. It would be most unbecoming for a d.u.c.h.ess to be caught dancing alone in the library in the middle of the day! Instead, she drifted over to the half-open window to gaze out at the waning afternoon.

The breeze was growing cooler, the heat of the spring day dissipating, and it was soft through the damp braid of her hair and on her bare neck. The light was turning pale gold, almost pink at the edges. Soon it would be time to change for dinner, but Nicholas was still talking on the terrace with the secretary who had brought letters from London, and who had been waiting on their return from the lake.

Emily glanced toward the desk where she had left her own missives, letters from her mother and from Mrs G.o.ddard, a short, chatty note from Jane lamenting the departure of everyone "interesting" from town. And yet Jane had somehow managed to attend two more parties since Emily's wedding, where she had encountered an "utterly heartbroken" Mr Rayburn, and promised to divulge "delicious secrets" as soon as she could write again.

She knew she should answer them, of course, right away. It was her duty to attend promptly to correspondence, no matter how much she would rather have a walk in the sunset! And she did rather want to know Jane's new secrets. She slowly turned away from the lovely evening outside, and from the view of her husband on the terrace, and went to sit down at the desk.

The desk, an ornate French affair of giltwork and enamel insets, was cluttered with books, little objets, and a cl.u.s.ter of odd rocks and feathers that seemed to be some of Stephen's good-luck charms. Emily pushed these to the side and reached for Nicholas's slope-topped travel desk to look for paper and ink. She should at least have time to write her mother before dinner.